Pressure Points
by stcrmpilot
Summary: Donna attempts to help the Doctor with a sore back.


"Donna," the Doctor whined. "My back hurts."

"Serves you right," she said, throwing a glance over her shoulder to where he was sprawled across the jumpseat. "You're the one who got yourself locked in that thing."

"It's called a pillory," he offered. Then, offended, he argued, "And how was I to know that wearing trousers was a crime?"

She rolled her eyes. "That alien bloke did tell you right when we arrived, but you thought he was joking."

"Therians always look like they're smiling, of course I thought he was joking."

"I _told_ you he wasn't joking."

He couldn't really dispute that so he pouted at her, putting on that kicked-puppy expression of his, and she sighed. How come she could never resist that look?

Donna crossed the console room and sat heavily on the jumpseat next to him. "Go on, then, Spaceman, shirt off," she ordered, giving him a little nudge.

Grinning boyishly, the Doctor got to his feet and quickly removed his suit jacket, which he folded and placed on the floor in front of her, then his oxford and undershirt. He sat down, using the jacket as a cushion, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms crossed overtop. Donna winced when she saw the faint bruises on his neck and wrists from the restraints, but the contented tapping of his fingers on his arms told her he wasn't too put out about it. She smiled at his enthusiasm, quickly schooling her features into resignation when he rested his head against the seat to look up at her; too late, for he caught her and smiled back, and she ruffled her fingers through his hair before making him lean forward.

"Oh, Donna," he groaned, as she started on the muscles in his neck. "That is… _marvellous_."

"You really are older than you look," she remarked, using her thumbs to rub firm circles at the base of his skull. "Is all your muscle just knots now?"

"Maybe," he sighed. From the way he tilted his head slightly to the right, encouraging her to work down to his shoulder, she didn't think he could be bothered to disagree right then.

"You're always hunched over your workbench, that's why," she told him.

"Probably."

"And you don't drink enough water."

The Doctor hummed quietly in agreement, his eyes falling closed.

Donna chuckled to herself and stopped chastising him to focus on massaging out a particularly tense spot at the join of his shoulder. She felt a bit sorry for him, really, because he had been stuck in his restraints for several hours and he must've been awfully sore. But she also thought it was hilarious to see him go into what she thought of as his Cat Mode, and she liked it when he got all relaxed. He didn't often let his guard down like this. It was nice.

In fact, he was so relaxed, she thought for a minute that he might have fallen asleep—until she reached a spot in the hollow above his collarbone and he yelped, startling upright. Donna recoiled, pulling her hands away.

"Sorry!" she blurted out. "I didn't– Did I hurt you?"

"No, no." He hissed in a breath through his teeth, pressing his right hand over the spot while he flexed his left arm. "Just– ah! Itchy, ow, itchy, itchy!" he cried. He cradled his arm to his chest, letting it go limp, as he tapped his feet frantically against the grating. "Pins and needles! I'm all pins-and-needles-y!"

"What– Doctor, what are you doing?" Donna demanded.

"My arm's gone to sleep!" he complained, shuffling around to face her.

"Yeah, but why?"

"Oh, right." The Doctor shrugged. "Well, see, Time Lords have a pressure point right there–" he nodded towards his left shoulder– "where a whole bunch of nerves run through the same junction, and if you hit it hard enough it makes our brains shut down."

"What, permanently?" she asked, alarmed.

"Nah, course not," he said dismissively. "Just for a bit. Like when your computer crashes. Or when your blood pressure gets too low and you faint."

"Oh." _Bloody alien,_ she thought with an exasperated huff, just now starting to calm down from the surprise. _Bloody dramatic alien, at that._ She looked down, to where he was still holding his arm against his chest. "Is your arm okay?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, it's fine. See?" He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers, only wincing a little bit. Then he shook out his whole body like a dog, stretched his arms behind his head, and leaned back on his hands, putting his very bare torso on display. "All better!" he said cheerily. "Nothing to worry about. Sorry, I'd completely forgotten that that happens."

"You forgot a bit of your own anatomy?"

"I bet you forget that you have a thyroid gland," he pointed out. "Or a spleen. Or a coccyx."

Donna, whose gaze and attention had been redirected to the flex of his lean, well-defined muscles, didn't bother taking that train of thought any further. "So it's just a cluster of nerves?" she asked absently, reaching out to pull him closer.

"Mm-hmm."

"So if I press too hard, it hurts. But…" She drew her hand up from his arm to his shoulder, giving him plenty of time to pull away. "What happens when I do this?"

Her thumb brushed over the sensitive nerve bundle, feather-light, and his eyes widened. Once more and he let out a breathy, "Oh."

Donna smirked. Taking a chance, she carefully increased the pressure of her thumb, rubbing slow circles. She watched his eyes glaze over and his head tip back slightly, baring the column of his throat, and she leaned forward to nip and suck at his neck. He drew a shaky breath as she latched onto his pulse point, pressing closer to her; after a few moments she felt his hearts start to quicken and his breathing turn ragged.

"Is this okay?" she murmured against his skin, grazing her teeth across the spot beneath his ear that always made him shudder.

"Ohh… oh, gods, yes," he rasped. "Don't– ah, Donna, don't stop."

Donna wasn't planning on it, but she wasn't about to tell him; if he thought she might stop, he would beg for it, and though she was rapidly losing any patience she might've had for teasing she sure would like to hear that.

 _But maybe later,_ she amended, as his hands found their way to her waist and up under her shirt.

At his urging, she slid off the jumpseat, straddling his lap, and captured his lips in a deep, slow kiss. She felt delicious heat start to pool low in her abdomen, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze that had him moaning into her mouth. She couldn't help it: she broke off the kiss to grin at him, and her smile only widened at the dazed, disheveled look on his face.

Oh, she was going to have so much fun with this.


End file.
